Inspired by my time spent in northwestern Indiana.

I just passed a speed limit sign.
It’s whispering my location...
At least it is this time...
I’ve got the pedal down to prove I’m alive.
I’m chasing ghosts on highway 55.

A darkened highway with many curves
stretches the imagination
that never seems to learn.
Many have died here speeding through time
and becoming a cross along highway 55.

Through Shelby, a town that’s but a ghost
wrapped around the empty shell
of a vacant factory - no more jobs to post.
And through Lowell following the northern line
There are too many ghosts along highway 55.

I remember staying there when I was young
Driving and swerving through life
dodging after whatever would come.
This is where I wrote some inspiring rhymes...
Inspired by the ghosts of highway 55.

My boyfriend’s parents lived on its shoulder
two lifetimes spent along the Kankakee.
Highways crack and lives only get older
before the light within no longer shines
and come the ghosts of highway 55.

With the carnival, we set up once in Thayre,
my first time away from home
spent in the shade of metallic beings there
It was once again Lincoln Daze festival time
as our music lulled the ghosts of highway 55.

©October 1, 2004 Lori S. Maynard